


To old times

by aliciawillromance



Category: The Good Wife (TV)
Genre: F/M, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 06:07:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6041056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciawillromance/pseuds/aliciawillromance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because I needed Alicia and Cary to celebrate together. Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To old times

My second thoughts and doubts rise with each floor I'm going up. No matter how many times I rode this elevator before, today I quiver like a kid on her first day of junior school. That's what I am now… _junior_. I had no choice, did I? Back almost where I started, hopefully minus the cubicle. I'm torn between the excitement for the umpteen new beginning and the fear for the almost inevitable quakes of adjustment. Having to answer to someone again, having to answer to Diane, to Cary! With a shake of head, I simper at the irony of my life.

I did my best. I tried. I most definitely failed. Yet, I enjoyed every second of my professional independence, as stressful and unstable as it turned out to be. And in all honesty, I would do it all over again because in the end, what it gave me is much more than what I've lost.

Grace… Her glee at the chance of working by my side has been lifeblood for the both of us, at least until I realized its wrongness. There was something unique in her young energy and innocent enthusiasm whenever she managed to amaze me. I could see myself at that same age and it'd be a lie to say it didn't make me proud of her even if, in retrospect, I'm not sure I told her enough.

And then Lucca… as unplanned as the events of the past days might have been, they brought our relationship on a new and deeper level. She's no more just a partner, or a drinks companion; she's become a real _friend_ , a listening ear, a shoulder to cry on, someone who understands me, who cares about me. It's a feeling that was missing in my life lately. Things might not be perfect now, I may not feel perfectly fine yet – maybe I never will again - but I certainly don't feel alone anymore, nor wrecked and lost as I did before. It's what I needed to pull myself back together and try to st…

The familiar, still welcoming ding of the elevator pulls me off my musings and tells me I reached the twenty-eighth floor. I don't need to check the numbers over my head, nor to see the LAL lobby to know I'm in the right place, because its sound is different from any other floor, so subtly that probably only my ears can distinguish it. And maybe its light discord is just in my imagination, but it still rings like home, in spite of all.

And so feels Diane's hug as she and Lucca meet me in the lobby. Ceremonies don't last long, welcomes even less, for things are in full swing here, frenzy like good old days, except it's not the good old days anymore. When she announces I'll have an office on the twenty-seventh floor, it's actually an undefined relief. She shows me the way to my new office, and there is something off-key in the cold professionalism of the small talk we make as we walk down the hallways. Maybe it's Lucca's presence, maybe it's because we didn't leave on the best terms. But I still can't shake off completely the feeling she didn't really want me back like Cary insisted, regardless of how honest and glad she sounds. Maybe it's really all in my head. My soft smile as she wishes me good luck turns into a self-encouraging inhale when she leaves, taking Lucca with her.

Left alone with a laptop and a pile of files to read up, I take a moment to reacquaint myself with the feast of glass before reaching my desk. I brush my chair, then sit down. But as I try to make myself comfortable crossings my legs, the chair makes a frighteningly creaky sound and tilts, making my heart skyrocket to my throat. _Good start!_ For a long moment I don't dare to move, clung to the desk. My eyes scan the open spaces outside my office, searching for reassurance that nobody caught this embarrassing moment. And that's when my eyes notice the silent – and much more flattering – welcome gift on my desk; a bottle of champagne. Stuck on it, a yellow Post-it and a few words in a handwriting I'd recognize among millions. 'Here's to the reunited comrade. Don't drink it all alone! Cary.' As I read his note, a bittersweet smile forms on my lips, as mixed memories of farewells and comebacks, beginnings and ends, successes and a few downfalls, blend together. Only two years ago we were toasting to the birth of Florrick  & Agos… I put the bottle and all the reminiscences aside for later, for I don't need an agenda to know that when the day is over and everyone has left, that's the moment we'll celebrate together. Only now I realize I haven't see him yet.

The time I can waste on that thought though is barely a few seconds. The first official phone call comes in and I'm immediately swallowed up by the seven-year-old flashback of my life, including the unexpected doze of Eli on my brand new couch. Because old habits die hard. And it really feels like coming back home.

It's already afternoon when a case leads me to the twenty-eighth floor and into Diane's office. I try to walk past what used to be Will's office first - then my own - as fast as I can, forcing myself to look anywhere but in that direction. And still, the sudden lump in my throat dissipates any doubt I might have that adjusting to this new situation won't be easy. No matter how hard I can try to move on, that's a part of me that will never stop hurting and I can't help but wondering how Diane can deal with that view in front of her, every single day.

/ / /

"Still the same old workaholic."

Cary's amused observation makes me look up from the screen of my laptop. Only now, do I realize it's already darkening outside. I take off my glasses and offer him my warmest grin. "Already burning the midnight oil," I singsong as I close my laptop. For today, I'm done working.

"Hope you haven't started the celebration without me," he asks, as he moves further in and takes a seat in front of me.

"No, but I was tempted," I tease him, pointing at the two flutes on my desk fibrillating to be filled. Truth be told, I'm not really sure what's there to celebrate. The aftermath of yet another fall? My professional downgrade? My option-less compromise? All these alternatives and gauche toasts cross my mind as Cary quickly opens the bottle, pours the champagne for both of us, then hands me a glass.

"To your return home?" His drinking muse is clearly much more inspired than mine.

"To my new office," I add as I peep around. The floor is almost desert at this late hour, the calm is unreal. It's the time of the day I've always loved more.

"Temporary by the way, you'll get a much nicer one soon," he tosses the news.

The tip-off makes me happy, though I have to say, I have nothing against this one and the view is decent. "As long as it comes with a much nicer chair, too."

"What's wrong with your chair?"

Prepared for the twitch this time, I grab the desk firmly with one hand then tilt to the right. In the silence of the empty offices, its sound is even scarier, worth of the lamest horror B-movie.

"Ouch. I'm sorry," Cary winces, not even trying to suffocate an amused laughter.

"Yeah." Ouch indeed. I drink up all the liquid left in my glass and gesture for him to refill it, because it's not a real celebration if the bottle remains half-full. And within seconds, both glasses are ready for another toast. "It's so weird, isn't it? Boss?" I tease him, making sure with a raised brow that there's no malice in my words.

"A bit," he admits with a cautious chuckle.

"We've been associates, we've been partners, I've been your boss, we've been name partners, and now… you are my boss. What's next?" I ask, kind of amused by the succession of our professional relationships ever since we met.

Probably at a loss for appropriate suggestions, Cary's only answer is an entertained laugh. "You know that I missed you?"

It's probably the nicest and most honest thing I've been told today. "You know I missed you too?"

He raises his glass, his next toast already on his lips. "To many more celebrations?"

"Like me being name partner again?" I joke, innocently.

"Like good old times."


End file.
